The Woodcarver
by WollemiSiss
Summary: Leaving her family and arranged fate behind, a young woman of Rohan is heading for a glorious dwarven kingdom, following a promise that she has to fulfill... Set around 2770 T.A., based on the book. Mainly OC, but canon characters will also make appearance.
1. Chapter 1

_'Satin and jewels grand_

_Are all at my command_

_And I am happy now.'_

* * *

In my memories Rohan dwells as a land where winds blow as veils of white sunlight and cutting vapour. A land where the eyes of dawn place crystal tears on the meadows, mirroring back the memory of black velvet nights. A country where the strands of pale golden fields are woven through the fine embroidery of copper green grass. A land where people are sown of grey and yellow, a fabric swift and hard as the sharp-edged rocks of the White Mountains and the cold, glass-like waves of the Isen and the Adorn.

To this land I was born.

I spent my childhood in the capital of Rohan, Edoras, in the shadow of Meduseld, hall of the kings of the Rohirrim. My father was a respectable man and my mother a fierce woman who knew no jest in duty. My brother and sister were both warriors, held in high esteem for their deeds defending the country's borders. Of this I knew not much in my youngest ages; only pride was in my heart when they returned from one of their quests, and joy and laughter filled our halls which was so rare in those days.

* * *

The nation of Éorl never really had a skill in agriculture. Aside from some wheat fields near the borders, people of Rohan were not farmers, and we had to get our supplies from outside the country. Once in a year, mainly at early spring, traders, caravans and merchants gathered inside the walls of Edoras, turning the city into a carnival full of colours for a week. Except for my brother's and sister's stays, this was my favourite period of the year. We bought clothes, wheat, watched the performances of dancers, acting companies, listened to the tales of storytellers and news from other countries. There was a Gondorian lady who always accompanied a caravan, she brought the finest jewelry; an old trader from the southern meadows of Rohan who was one of the best in horse-breeding; skilled smiths, craftsmen and all we could imagine.

But my favourite was Thórgeir, the dwarf, who dwelled in the glorious kingdom of Erebor and brought with him the most beautiful wooden carvings and toys I had ever seen. In my youngest days I visited him for his toys, later for wondrous woodworks which included dishes, cutlery and cups and also sculpture and pictures carved in flat wooden plates. Sculpts of bears, dragons, wolves; pictures of faraway lands, scenes from legends and tales. I was one of Thórgeir's favourite customers and he always gave me little presents – a necklace of a wooden eagle, a belt that was carved to form dragon's skin. He was always very kind to me, telling me tales about his home under the mountain. He used to tell me that when I was to be married, he would bring me the finest necklace which can be made by the dwarf metalworkers of Erebor. I laughed and I never missed to visit him when he was in town.

* * *

My elder sister was a rare sight to her fellow companions – although shieldmaidens fought alongside men from time to time, they were always few in number. She was blond and tall, determined and stern. I think she would have been happy if I had followed her ways. She had the finest smith in town to forge me a sword, a size which would fit a child and when she was at home, she often took me outside the city, to train and teach me.

I could never make her truly satisified and that sorrowed me deeply.

'You have learnt the movements right, but I do not see your heart in your cuts' she said disappointedly in an autumn afternoon, when a lesson again was over. I was sad because I did not know what I had done wrong.

' I thought to show your inside in battle is to fail' I answered.

'I am not talking about that. To show your guts to your enemy would be a victory indeed, but not for you.' she answered rather irritated and I had no courage to tell her that she misunderstood me. 'What you lack is the string that keeps the embroidery as a whole. You miss the flow, and if you cannot find it, Éorl himself could not make you a skilled warrior.'

That was the end of our lesson that day and I felt a great sorrow because she got me wrong but mainly because she was right. However I was born into a family of warriors and a nation of fighters, I saw no joy in the art of sword. Long years had I spent at home, at my mother's help to do the housework during the days. But at nights I often went outside the city, wandered the fields of the valley of Harrowdale, and I felt a weigh in my chest which was crawling to get outside me. I did not know what that feeling was about – I only knew that my nights were full of desperate longing. The hills stood like frontiers as I was waiting. Waiting for something I still had not known about.

Then one evening, something happened.

Sometimes I brought my sword along, trying to catch the flow about which my sister was talking to me, but never reached my goal. That day I was walking under the hills, beneath the rarely growing trees when I hit a tree by chance when I was figuring out a cutting exercise my sister had shown me. The tree was wounded and I stared at the yellowish spot that emerged from the bark, as a result of the touch of my sword. I put my hand on my chest in alarm – and I felt the forms of the eagle necklace I got from Thórgeir last year. I was standing there for a long time – in one of my hands, the sword; the other held the necklace while my eyes were gazing at the tree.

As I arrived at home, I took a little knife, then a piece of wood from our hovel. I looked at my eagle necklace then I lifted up the knife and cut into the wood. I was working until the break of day. I was eager to finish housework that day and although I hadn't slept for two days, I stayed awake again all night, working on my carving. And I never went to practice fencing again.

* * *

When my sister came home next time, she came up to my room at an evening and she saw what I was doing. I smiled at her and showed her my wooden eagle which now was coming to form. She looked at it, then back at me – and her eyes were full of incomprehension.

'Why are you spending time with this?' she asked.

At first the question seemed so stupid I could not find an answer. 'Because I love doing it.' I replied finally.

She shook her head and saw the sword standing by the wall, the sword she gave to me.

'Did you practice while I was away?' she asked.

I saw that she was longing for a towardly answer, but I did not want to lie to her.

'Not all along.' I replied. 'I have stopped practicing for a few weeks.'

I never saw such a great disappointment in my sister's eyes. She looked at the eagle in my hand, then at me again, then with a sigh, she left my room. She never called me to practice fencing again.

I remember that she looked at my eagle but she would not see it. It was her indifference that hurt me the most.

* * *

Next day I was with my mother with the kitchen, I helped her to peel vegetables for dinner. We worked without words, as always – she was not a talkative person. I was quite surprised when she suddenly sent away the other servants and then slowly began to speak.

'Why don't you go fencing with your sister instead of useless woodworks?' she asked in a deep toned voice.

My mother never understood my affection for my wooden treasures. Aside from the halls of the King, people of Rohan would seldom decorate their environments, maybe with the exception of their houses. My mother could use a nice dish or cutlery but could do nothing with a sculpture of a bear. Therefore she valued it close to nothing.

She didn't even wait for my answer.

'Leave the woodworks for the experts of the king, girl.'

'I could make such carvings they do, mother.'

'That is the task of the king's woodworkers and not for impudent children. '

'I could be a fine woodworker.'

'You will be a fine woman to your husband, child – if you ever manage to peel those vegetables before the day is done.'

By this, she left the kitchen with a bowl in her hand, cutting me from answering. I felt a heavy stone growing in my stomach. Thus far my family talked to me as if I would follow my sister and brother and I would be a shieldmaiden when I grow up. I knew I would never reach my sister's skills, but I always thought that I will accompany her on her quests, at least with the pretence of freedom. Now this seemed to slip away. Whatever I wanted, I knew I could never endure a life in a cage.

* * *

Autumn and winter passed and in the early spring, the merchant's week started off again. I ran off to the market happily, and when I saw Thórgeir's counter, I hardly could wait for my mother's constrained nod and ran to him.

He wore a red brocade gown and his beard was braided in the same elaborated way as I remembered it. His eyes filled with joy when he saw me.

'My little dragon!' he greeted me warmly. It seemed he hadn't aged a day since I last saw him, but he observed at once that age had an effect on me – closing my thirteenth year, now I was taller than him.

'I see you can't wait to grow any longer!' he teased me. 'Next year I can bring you that fine necklace, I presume?'

It took a little time for me to realize that he was talking about the wedding gift he promised me. Since that talk with my mother, marriage was not mentioned by my family, but I felt a shiver running through my spine and this he perceived.

'You don't want old dwarf's jewelry, child?' he asked mockingly. I tried to smile at him and compose my words softly – however nice he was, he was a dwarf and I knew that dwarfs held their talents in higher esteem than anything else.

'I really want your jewelry, Master Thórgeir' I replied. 'But I don't think I want marriage.'

He seemed a bit stunned. ' You don't? I thought that is a crucial wish in the hearts of human ladies.' I shook my head, for which he smiled again. 'And what is then do you want, missy?'

I stopped for a moment and looked around, but my mother went forward, she could not see me anymore. I put my hand in my pocket and I pulled out the wooden eagle on which I was working in the past months, late at nights. I gave him the eagle which he took away interestedly.

'What is your opinion of it, Master Thórgeir?' I asked nervously.

He examined it carefully and thoroughly. 'Did you make this, lass?'

'I did.'

'Hm.'

His gruntle alarmed me, but he just kept on watching my piece. As he held it in his palms, I began to see many little anatomical and carving mistakes and I nearly regretted showing it to him but then he looked at me.

'This is not bad, child.' he said with a slight surprise in his voice. 'This is not bad at all.'

I felt a heavy weigh leaving my chest.

'Can I be ever as good as your fellow dwarven woodworkers?' I teased him and he growled again.

'Don't you ever want to reach the level of dwarven craftsmen, lassie, you will never be as good as them, neither if you would live for a thousand years.' he said proudly but then he added: 'But I am forced to confess I see talent in this thing of yours. Your hands are blessed by Mahal, girl.'

'So you think I should continue?'

' I definitely think so.' he nodded.

He leaned on so only I could hear what he wanted to say. 'You know, lassie, not all dwarven women marry.'

'Not all of them?' I asked, surprised. In Edoras no woman could stay unmarried, and if she had done or ended up so, she was considered miserable and left by all luck.

'No, not all of them. 'Thórgeir echoed. 'They marry only if they want to get married and only to the one they want to marry. If not, they live for their crafts in all their lives.'

'And they do not end up lonely and miserable?' I asked, still astonished.

'Do you think they can end up lonely and miserable?' he asked back, showing me my own carving.

I was lost in my thoughts, examining his steely face and then I dared to ask: 'Are you married, Master Thórgeir?'

He shook his head slowly and I saw pain and pride in his eyes.

'But you were married?' I asked.

'My chosen one would not want me.' he said shortly.

This hit me really hard. 'Oh, I am very sorry.' I said. 'It surely was a great sorrow for you.'

'Greater would have been my sorrow if she had married me as her second best.' Thórgeir said sternly.

His speech confused me and I just stood there, being unable to say anything that would comfort him. Then I heard my mother's voice calling for me.

'Oh no, I haven't even taken a look at your items' I said irritated, and Thórgeir laughed.

'I'll be here for several days, lassie, I will be waiting for you.'

I smiled at him and he took his hand on my shoulder. 'Continue with the woodworks, child. I want to see some specialty next year when I return.' He winked at me. 'If you do a good job, I may buy it from you and I shall show it to the mighty Thrór, the King under the Mountain himself!'

I felt a deep red blush running through my face as he laughed at me. However I knew that he was joking, but I felt a sudden flame burning inside me.

'And what would you want to see from me, Master Thórgeir?' I asked back, smiling. His eyes became thoughtful then.

'You know, lassie, I travelled far and wide Middle-Earth, but I never saw the other shores of the sea.' he said.' I am old now, I do not think I shall ever travel that far… but I would be happy if you would give me the chance. 'He winked at me again. 'Make a wooden ship to my thoughts, young missy. Make a wooden ship for next spring and I shall bring you the most wondrous necklace of Erebor – as a price.'

A price. He was now talking to me as I was a craftswoman, never mentioning wedding gift. I felt such happiness that I hardly ever experienced before and then I heard my mother's voice again, calling me. I hardly had the time to answer Thórgeir.

'I shall make the ship for you, Master Dwarf.' I bowed to him to which he nodded to me.

'Go, your mother awaits you.' he smiled and I turned away from him to search for my mother.

I visited him several times during the week but not until the annual market ended did I realize that I never got back the eagle from him.

* * *

From then, I practiced as hard as I could on my woodworkings. My mother would not let me to leave housework behind, so I did all my tasks as fast as I could and practically I did not even leave my room. My family never talked about my carvings, as if they wouldn't exist. As my sister never missed to make me feel how deeply I disappointed her, I was not so eager for her visits anymore either.

Time went by, autumn and winter passed. No marriage of mine was mentioned. I began my fifteenth year and by early spring, when the market week started, I was ready with the wooden ship and could not wait to show it to Thórgeir.

But his counter was empty and he never arrived that year.

* * *

Months passed and no words came from him. I never stopped my carving works but I often cried while I was holding the knife. What happened to him? Why didn't he come? Why didn't he send a message to me at least? I was full of worry and sadness. Whenever I heard a trader or merchant coming to town, I always was to first to search them, but I never got to know anything. My heart was heavy with sorrow and the feeling of loss. The loss of seeing his face when I would give him my work.

Autumn came and one day my mother came up to me.

'You are to be sixteen next year, my daughter.' she told me. 'You are now in the right age to get married.'

I felt myself turning pale. I could just stutter. 'But… I… no, mother, I am not…'

'I will not hear any pleas. ' she told sternly. 'You are old enough to leave all childish activities behind and act as your duties wish. '

I wanted to tell her that it is not my duty to leave my greatest joy behind, that a craft in which my hands would be blessed by one of the Valar is not childish. I wanted to tell that she would not lock me into a cage. I wanted to tell all this, while I was listening to her voice which sounded like distant, weak thunder in pouring rain.

'Your future husband dwells at Aldburg, he is the son of an old comrade of your father – a benevolent, respectable man. He is coming to town in a few days to meet you. Do not disappoint us, daughter!'

I finally tried to raise a word but she waved at me, her voice as sharp as a knife.

'I told you: I will hear no pleas!'

* * *

I remember the following days as a long night without dreams. My mother bought me the finest fabrics and she sewed me the most wonderful dress I ever wore and yet I felt like a rope around my neck when I tried it on. When the day of the meeting came, she dressed me up, and told me I am beautiful to which I could not answer. When my father let my groom in, I could not say a word, my lips were like trees that turned to ash in a destructive fire. He was a fine man, my groom; a tall, handsome man of honour, with raven black hair – so rare amongst our people – and blue eyes. I saw that he liked me. Though I cannot recall a word we have spoken, I remember he was very kind to me.

During dinner, my mother said something about my "carving fooleries", to which my groom answered my mother: 'Your daughter will not have time nor the need to raise her fingers in this matter.'

He looked at me softly and his voice was full of prancing kindness, as he offered me wine in a glass cup filigreed with gold. I took it and gazed at my reflection on the glass, captured between the golden lines. I couldn't help but feel my stomach take a turn.

I took my farewell of my family courtly and withdrew into my room. I opened the window to feel the cold air on my face; I slowly felt the urge to throw up go away but my stomach still trembled.

I don't know how much time I spent there. The house was silent and I suddenly noticed the breaking of dawn beyond the mountains. Looking at the icy peaks, I thought of the kingdom in the Lonely Mountain and then Thórgeir again, about whom I still had not heard anything. Was he still alive? I thought of the tales he used to tell me about his homeland and I felt desperate longing to see the city of Dale, its famous market and the magical fortress-city of the kingdom of Erebor.

And suddenly it hit me: he could not come, for something prevented him. But nothing prevents me from going to him.

I took off my beautiful dress and put it on my bed. In a hurry I collected stuff I should need for the long way, and it did not take but some hours to leave the city. The guards took no notice of me, as I was in my most worn dresses, no one could tell that I was a noble lady of the Rohirrim.

As I stepped out of Edoras, I hesitated for a while. My parents will disown me for such a shame; my birthplace shall not be my home again. Yet I didn't feel like home was now behind. Looking at the mountains in the distance, with my woodcarving knives in my pockets I thought home was ahead.

Thus I started off for my long journey to Erebor.

* * *

_Author's note: poem is Bridal Ballad by E.A. Poe_


	2. Chapter 2

'_This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.'*_

* * *

I have never thought that the mountains would range that far.

Soon I had left the green meadows behind me as I was heading straight to the northeast. For many miles, I let my feelings leave my body through my steps as if I would have passed them on to the eternal grey rocks and the ground under my feet. I walked next to the ancient forest of Fangorn, crushed into shallow creeks, and ran through fields that mirrored the sunrise back in emerald gaze. Jumping through branches and racing downhills I waved to the clouds, left the rain weep instead of me, and laughed into the sunshone veil of the ever blowing winds.

The land around me seemed neverending. I would not know if I ever reached its frontiers but I was eager to run for them.

* * *

For weeks I had been travelling towards north. Apart from some settlements – off which I kept – I did not meet men or people from any other races. The Misty Mountains slowly took shapes as I walked; having been a cloudy fence around Rohan, now they would be my quiescent guides on my way. I followed their trail, and as winter came, I approached the dark forest of the North of which I heard many tales and which I had to cross in order to get to my destination. I remembered Thórgeir telling me that the Mirkwood had not been a safe place for a long time and sometimes even their caravans avoided the forest, passing it round to the South but I had no time for roundabouts. At a cold winter dawn, I headed my way into the forest.

I do not know what kind of spirit led my footsteps until now but as I was beheld by the trees it did not take a long time to turn into fear. Beneath the trees the sky looked murky even when the pale sunrise could find its way through the leaves. From time to time, sharp silver lights of spiderwebs caught my attention. I slept hiding under tree roots; I ate as little from my supplies as I could for I dared not to taste the winter fruits of the forest. Shadows were following my trails and threats floated amongst the trees, never turning into forms.

Then, after miles of dark paths, I saw a ruined fortress in the distance, heading towards the sky with black towers, holding grey mists around, clothing even the trees with dusty translucent fog. I could not get rid of my fears even days after I left that place behind, but as I continued my paths and no harm was ever done to me, my dreads slowly milded, but I still was cautious. I knew that however my presence was endured; it was not welcomed at all.

* * *

It seemed I had been wandering in the Mirkwood for ever. It was chilly and covered with grey, and after a while I did not even remember how it used not to be cold all the time. My feet hurt very much and my mind started to be veiled by despair. The spiderwebs shadowed my thoughts and I longed for a swift sunrise as hungrily as for nothing in my life. After a day of endless walking again, I finally stopped at a glade. I felt strength leaving me and I collapsed onto my knees. Slowly tears started to run down on my face and I felt the winter air holding me close, inviting me to sleep. My refusal faded away as I lowered my head on my chest.

'Follow the frost and you shall not be awaken again.' I heard a colorless and stern voice suddenly from the woods.

Driven by sudden alarm, I jumped up and stared at the man who was standing on the edge of the glade. At first I thought he was from the race of men, but he seemed very strange. His coat was like he had woven it from leaves, old age forced him to lean on a long stick. His eyes gleamed as though they would reflect warmth which was unknown in this forest, but as I looked into them, I felt the afternoon sun glazing through the trees more intensely than ever.

However, the man's voice sounded sharp. With a mistrustful sight, he asked: 'Who are you?'

I stood for a moment, looking back to him, not knowing what to say. I was not a noble lady anymore, not a craftswoman yet.

'I am a woodcarver from the South, sir.'

'A woodcarver, eh?' He glanced at me with a viperous spark. 'Trees of the Mirkwood seldom suffer the presence of tools which are used to wound their bodies.'

'I have been on my way for weeks.' I replied firmly. 'No harm was done to me.'

He seemed deeply dumbfounded as he measured me. Then he asked, in a much less cold voice: 'And where are you off to?'

'I want to get to the Lonely Mountain, sir.' I replied.

A wave of woe flowed over his wrinkled face. 'What business draws you there?' he asked after a while.

'I'm searching for someone.' I answered – then, after a moment of silence, I added: 'I'm searching for a friend.'

His eyes darkened. 'And this friend of yours… did he dwell at Erebor?'

'Aye.' I nodded. Happily that he knows about it, I asked: 'You know where I can find the Lonely Mountain? Can you tell me if I am taking the right way?'

He was looking at me for a long time and I saw a pitiful spark in his eyes. I couldn't help but shiver as he started to talk; his voice was so low I hardly could hear him.

'Follow the path to the east, lady.' he answered finally. 'May the Kementári lead you to your friend before you reach the Mountain.'

With these words, he slipped into the woods and disappeared from my eyes. However loud I cried after him, I would not see him anymore.

* * *

Twice did that mysterious, foolish man save my life as years after my journey I realized. First time when his voice pulled me out of the cradle of the frost, and the second time when he set my heart on a chasing fire, knowing that my destination was not unbearably far anymore.

Even the smell of wind changed as was approaching. Winter air lost its sharpness, the sun caught the snow-covered branches. Spiderwebs slowly started to disappear. Sometimes it seemed like I saw tall, dainty figures moving in the woods, sparkling eyes and faces swept across the shadows, but they might have been delusions – as I knew I was crossing the realm of the wood-elves yet. However, though secretly I wished for it, I never really saw any of them.

Winter faded and trees started to rarefy and now I was following the grey path of the Forest River. As I reached the edge of the forest, and the horizon opened again to me, my heart started to beat heavily as the forms of a mountain evolved in the faraway sky. The Lonely Mountain.

Finally I got to an enormous lake, and I saw a town in the distance which seemed to be built on wooden pillars, like it would have been floating on the water. I knew that by all means, it was Laketown - a reason why I would avoid it as I did not wish to meet any of the merchants I had met back in Edoras. I stayed on the lake shore for the night. In the dawn, as the tide would go low, I noticed old piles standing out from the lake. Their sight made me shiver and I set off as fast as I can, and I did not enter the town but took a circle and avoided it.

Soon the trees started to melt into an uncoloured country. A sense of misgiving and unexplainable fear started to came over me as I walked the now sparse land, which was grey and barren and only the remains of trees scattered my way as I drew near to the mountain. Without the cloak of the trees, I felt unarmed and defenseless, and a feeling of emptiness grew inside me as I walked the bleak lands. It seemed that the fields were covered with a blanket of ash. I saw no sign of life, not a single bird. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that this cannot be what Thórgeir told me about.

And my fear that I tried to hide so intrepidly turned into desperation when I reached the mountain and following the River Running, arrived at the valley of Dale.

Thórgeir's tales spoke about richness, wealth, laughter, joy and sunrise in an ever prosperous city, lying at the gates of one of the greatest kingdoms of Middle-earth. But what I saw were ruins, grey walls, mouldering houses, tumbledown manors; a city of past glory, holding life no more.

I walked along with rigid legs until I reached one of the shackly walls. Still stunned, I reached out to touch it. It felt freezingly cold under my hand, like it would want to chain my heart into a cord of chill as well. With no one but the memories of the stones, I was all alone.

* * *

I did not know how much time had gone by until my senses overcame my grief and I finally lifted up my head and looked around. I stood up and walked to the ruined gate of the city. Snow was crumbling silently under my feet as I looked onto the wide streets that had not been defended yet by the city walls.

As I walked in the desolated town, the harsh cut in my heart slowly deepened itself into a pain that encircled even into my bones. Though the city seemed to be abandoned for a long time, I saw what it could have been before. Empty manors, shops, wide streets, beautiful stone carvings beside the decayed wooden doors – however dimly, they still guarded their past wealth. My eyes were pasting through the grey walls with perplexity. What could have happened here? I heard about orc raids in the northern parts of Rohan, but they attacked small settlements only. Wars neither had been fought in Middle-earth for a long time, and I saw not a single corpse that could have tell about fights. But what happened here then? What can turn a rising and prosperous city into such a ruinous memory?

The shadow of the Lonely Mountain slowly covered the town as evening approached and I walked through the city. As they would have come from small caves, steam clouds flew over the grey cliffs, like something would heat the mountain from the inside. I was stunned. Could there be still a living person in the stronghold? It seemed impossible, for beyond the walls of the town that once was Dale, I noticed the mighty Front Gate of the mountain, which once had been the door to the kingdom of Erebor. Thórgeir depicted it to me as majestic and appealing. Now it lay in pieces, sealed.

But where did the steam come from then?

'Is it time?'

I got so frightened that my heart gave such a big throb it nearly jumped out of my chest. I turned, and behind me I saw the oldest and most slatternly looking dwarf I had ever met in my life. His eyes were beaming with a disturbing light.

'Is it time?' he repeated.

My first fear turned into such and excitement I hardly heard his words.

'Grandfather!**' I greeted him happily. 'I am so glad to meet you! What happened here, why is the city abandoned? I'm searching for someone, maybe you know him…'

My words ran from my mouth like a river, but as I got no answer, I stopped and watched him carefully. Though there was no menace or threat in his eyes, there was something that made me tremble.

'Grandfather, can you hear me?' I asked, thinking that he may be deaf. He came closer by some steps.

'Is it time, lassie?' he asked.

I lifted my eyebrows. 'Time for what?' I asked back.

He glanced at me with a glassy look, and then suddenly a flame set on light in his eyes. He started to race towards me like he would want to attack, and I jumped away in my fear - but he was not running against me. He stopped right after some steps and cried out in the direction of the mountain, in a harsh, loud voice:

'Soon we will be upon you, beast! _Baruk Khazâd!_***'

The dwarf then turned to me, the blaze in his eyes gone. He was like a glass-faced creature again, muttering words of which I did not understand anything. Though he looked at me, he would not see me as he walked past. His words were tossed back by the hillside, echoing beneath the ruins, dying slowly. But not until the grumble from under the mountain came got I really afraid.

It was a deep and strong voice, like the rasping sound of old wooden doors. As it grew louder and louder, accompanied with the strains of falling rocks, my first thought was to run. I caught up the old dwarf who walked in a slow pace.

'Come, Grandfather, we have to hide!' I cried to him and I grabbed his shoulder, leading him to a house to which its rived door gave free access. He gruntled at me in a language I did not understand, but he never stood against me and took my lead. I felt no strength in his arms at all, it seemed he could collapse at any time, but finally we managed to enter the house. Following the pale light, I seated him next to the wall and I sat beside him. I could see my breath in the cold air as the strange sound from the mountain emerged and I heard a shrilling voice. However afraid I was, I took a curious look out on the door, just to spring back at once as I saw the giant shadow passing through the streets. Finally I knew the cause of the fall of Erebor and Dale.

A dragon.

'The dwarves are upon…' I heard the old dwarf's voice escalating again and I quickly put my hand over his mouth.

'Please, Grandfather, stay silent.' I whispered to him, and his eyes burst out a last flame of fire then got empty as his mind was clouded again. He lowered his head and I saw gleaming spots of tears running down his face. The voice of his weep I could not compare to any other sound; he sobbed like no child, no man; without a moan, without a gasp. As a swift creek runs down on a hillside, his tears ran down his face and down my hand, leaving shiny paths on my skin, with a warmth I had not felt since I bid my last farewell to Thórgeir.

* * *

Soon it turned out that he was the only living person in the city. I followed his unsure steps while he was mumbling in a strange tongue. He made his food from what he could recover in the forsaken city taverns and pantries, and usually he slept where he could find a place. But when I followed him into a big house that once could have been an ornament to the city, my breath was taken.

It seemed that however lost he was, he would not let the dragon take everything away from him. He had a complete workshop there, with the most various kinds of carving knives and such wonderful works that even Thórgeir had not brought with him. There was a huge carving against a wall, so elaborated that I just stood there, amazed. The old dwarf gruntled at me, but I did not care about him as I stepped closer to the carving. Beautiful flowers and leaves were following each other, so dainty and graceful that they even seemed to be more beautiful than the real ones. Like it was no wood anymore but some kind of white marble, glimmering with the lights of royal jewels.

As the old dwarf sat down in front of the carving, lifting up his knives, I fell on my knees before him. His eyes sparkled with a beam of recognition. Knowing that it would soon be gone, I dared to ask him:

'Will you teach me your art, Grandfather?'

Suddenly anger grew in his eyes.

'I will not talk about our people's secrets!' he yelled at me while continuing his wide movements, but I would not let him go so easily.

'Please, Grandfather.'

His voice slapped me like his hand would have. 'I will not _talk_ about our people's secrets!' he repeated, then, after a moment of hesitation, he turned back to his carving. I saw that the light in his sight had slept out.

'You don't need to talk.' I responded in such a low voice that he could not hear me.

He did not pay attention to me as I sat next to him, with my carving knives and a piece of wood. All day I would sit beside him, looking at how he was working. And as he never barred me from looking at his workflow, he never prevented me from learning.

* * *

And this would continue for days, for weeks, for months. I slept near to him; I ate the same as he did. We lived in the shadow of the mountain, but never saw the dragon, neither the old dwarf tried to siege him again, though he often stared at the hillsides while walking slowly on the uninhabited streets. His eyes would reflect a deep lake then, with forgotten treasures at the bed which never could be recovered again to the surface. Aside from his rare walks, he would continue his carvings all day long and I sat next to him and learned.

I never got to know what he was thinking about this. Like I would have been one with the ruins, he never talked to me.

* * *

Autumn passed and a winter again. I was in my eighteenth year.

One day, I awoke to find his bed empty.

I searched the town far and wide, but I could not recover him. I found his footsteps in the snow heading towards the mountain, out of the city, but as the heat of the cliffs approached, the snow melted and I lost his trail. The Front Gate emerged in front of me like it was its choice that who would it let in. By force, a hunting dragon, in search for gold - and by pity, a miserable dwarf, longing for his home.

But I had no place beyond those gates.

My last day in Dale was spent with carving a wooden lily as a last gift to my teacher. I placed the wooden flower on the ground, outside the town, just in front of the Gate. The Mountain lay silent and dark, never minding my presence.

While I headed out of the cursed town, my heart was filled with sorrow. I never got to know anything about my adopted master, not even his name. His madness would only spare him a little time, but in the end, it led him to the same fate which was probably suffered by his comrades: death beneath the mountain halls. Death beneath stone, as dwarves bury their dead.

I slowly overcame my desperation. I lived in the forsaken city of Dale for nearly a year, not knowing what happened to its habitants. Maybe not all of them were killed by the dragon. Maybe Thórgeir was still alive somewhere? I had to go on and leave the grey lands behind. I brought the heritage of winds and stars of the endless sky with me. Though I have forsaken my homeland, the blood of the horsemen runs through my veins and this blood shall not endure a halter.

My last memory of Dale is the sight of lilies that were blooming on the ruins. Spring was approaching.

* * *

_Notes:_

_*Shakespeare: King Lear, Act 3, Scene 4_

_**Grandfather: here it is not a reference to relations, but a respective title for old men_

_***"The dwarves are upon you!" (Khuzdul)_


End file.
